


A Life of Sin

by AnchorsOutAtSea



Series: The Witcher and the Bard [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Geralt being soft is my weakness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, They're both so dumb and soft for one another
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:18:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22160146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnchorsOutAtSea/pseuds/AnchorsOutAtSea
Summary: Sometimes monsters have fangs and talons. Sometimes they have tails and horns. And sometimes... sometimes, they're human.A fic in which the fearless Geralt of Rivia finally finds something that terrifies him, and Jaskier let's his emotions get him into some serious shit.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher and the Bard [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595032
Comments: 21
Kudos: 634





	A Life of Sin

**Author's Note:**

> So, someone suggested that I do a part of this series adapting the quest in Witcher 3 titled "Carnal Sins" so that Jaskier (or Dandelion, in that case for us Americans) would play a different role. And when someone asks you to create a story for your ship using one of your favorite quests, you just do it. You don't ask questions.
> 
> You won't need any prior knowledge of the game (or books) because I've added my own twist (I'm not _that_ lazy), and everything will be explained in the fic. You will have needed to read the prior installment in this series preferably, though. This installment will be graphic as far as violence goes. Be patient. It takes awhile for the plot to build up to Jaskier and Geralt, but I promise there's payoff. And Geralt gets much more dialogue!

Geralt's eyes fluttered open slowly, consciousness slowly creeping up on him. When he and Jaskier had fallen asleep, the bard had been practically glued to his side, _definitely_ a cuddler, but at some point during the night had rolled over and was curled up in a tight ball, snoring softly to Geralt's right. Geralt observed him with a frown. The slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. The way his hair was a messy mop of soft brown on his head. How completely at _peace_ he was. One of the only emotions that Kaer Morhen hadn't been able to stamp out or dull immediately filled Geralt's mind: doubt. Geralt had been happy the night before, elated even. But now that the lust had died down, now that he had had time to clear his head and think, he had the reminder of something that rang true. The last thing he wanted was someone needing him.

And Jaskier needed him.

Jaskier didn't just need him to save his life. He didn't just need him to write his ridiculous songs. Geralt had seen the way the bard looked at him the night before, and Jaskier needed him in ways that completely terrified Geralt, in ways that were so foreign they completely stumped him. And it was horrifying. His training in Kaer Morhen had tried to squash fear entirely. Fear made a witcher reckless. And for the first time in decades, Geralt was scared shitless. There were times when sharp fangs and blood stained claws had his heart beating faster, pumping adrenaline through his veins, but this? This was fear like Geralt couldn't ever remember experiencing in all of his days. 

So, he left.

It had been easy with Yennefer. She was always the one that left, always the one that left Geralt waking up alone. There were times when Geralt had wanted her to stay, wanted to find out if there could be more to them than the random, wild sex. Yennefer had this pull on him, something that captivated him, but with Jaskier it was different. At least Yennefer understood that he was a witcher, understood that he was good for a quick fuck and nothing more. Jaskier looked at him like maybe he was worth more than sex and slaying beasts.  
  
  
  


Geralt was out the door of the inn quickly and silently. Jaskier didn't even stir, and something about just how peaceful he was broke Geralt, knowing that he was the cause of that and now he was just leaving without a word. But it was better this way. A witcher's life was no life for a bard, and the last thing Geralt needed was being responsible for something happening to him. Jaskier knew him well enough to know that Geralt avoided big cities, and Geralt knew Jaskier well enough to know that the man would search for him. Jaskier would rightfully want answers to questions that Geralt didn't even want to think about, so he did what Jaskier would least expect. He headed for the closest, largest city. He headed for Novigrad.

  


Despite pushing Roach to her limits, and barely resting himself, the trek to Novigrad took days. Geralt never thought that relief would wash over him to see massive city gates. He hated Novigrad, and he hated everything it stood for. He sorely wished that there would have been a different city to choose, but _because_ it was the most unlikely place for Geralt to go, it made the most sense. Jaskier would be safe this way. He could play in pubs and inns, merchant camps and weddings. He could continue to write and sing about being on the road with a witcher without the danger of actually doing so. Geralt repeated a mantra of " _It's better off this way_ ", wondering how many times he would have to recite it before he believed it. The road to Novigrad had been far too quiet, and it had been hard to believe at one point he thought there were few things better than blessed silence.  
  
The streets of Novigrad were busy. They were _always_ busy unless it was the dead of night, and even then, they were no less crowded. He dismounted Roach at the gate, pulling her close to him by the reins as a guard shot him a dirty, though quizzical look. He knew he would have to find a stable to house her and wouldn't be able to lead her through the entire city. His hair color. witcher's medallion, and swords drew enough attention to him. He didn't need the added attention of a horse.  
  
Geralt made his was through the city, hoping to find an inn and thus a stable, but stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the town square. Roach neighed impatiently and he hushed her, ignoring how the city folk avoided him like the plague the moment they saw him. There was a reason a crowd had gathered in the square, a reason that had Geralt's stomach turning uneasily. Right in the middle of a blood thirsty, chanting mob of a crowd was a sobbing woman, tied to a vertical pyre and begging for her life with tear stained cheeks. A reverend was standing before her, reading from a scroll, telling the mob her "sins". Geralt gritted his teeth angrily. Fuck the Church of the Eternal Fire, and fuck everything they stood for. They were nothing more than a religious cult that tried to justify their actions as a god's doing, and their favorite targets were non-humans and magic users.  
  
The poor woman was being accused of witchcraft, the reverend claiming that she had predicted the failure of crops in the local farmlands and so she must have cursed the very soil that the plants failed to grow in. Geralt's tongue felt heavy with the weight of what he left unsaid, with the unstated argument that _anyone_ could have predicted the crops dying because it had been unreasonably warm for this time of year, and the north wasn't getting enough rain. Geralt's fingers itched for his blades, beheading the reverend a graphic fantasy in the forefront of his mind. The reverend could barely be heard over the woman's begging hysterics, and Geralt fingers ached from how hard he was gripping Roach's reins. He had seen people, seen creatures beg for their lives countless times before. But this woman was innocent, and he couldn't save her. The only crime she was guilty of being a part of a town ran by self righteous fanatics. If he did anything at all that drew attention to himself, dozens of guards would be on him in seconds, and his only two options would be to flee, or receive yet another title like the "Butcher of Blaviken".  
  
The reverend finished his speech, and didn't even allow the woman any last words before he lit the pyre. Her screams could barely be heard over the cheering and shouting of the crowd, but their carrying voices did nothing to mask the acrid scent of burning flesh that began to waft through the streets. An innocent woman, burning at the stake for being a "witch". Geralt gave one last look to the scene, silently hoping that both Yennefer and Triss had the sense to stay as far away from Novigrad as possible. He pulled at Roach's reins, leading her away. As more people noticed him, some spit in his direction, jeering.  
  
"Watch it there, witcher." A guard snarled at him as he walked by. "Keep your nose clean or you'll be up there next."  
  
Witchers were necessary, and although they were an unwanted necessity, being a witcher alone wasn't enough to be considered a crime. But every guard in this city would be watching him like a hawk. Geralt kept his head down and reminded himself that at least Jaskier would be safe this way.  
  


  


Geralt spent four days in Novigrad before he started going stir crazy. He spent those days drunk off his ass, checking notice boards for contracts within the city limits, and trying not to bring attention to himself. While spending so much time in the inn was comfortable, the bed felt too big, no matter what size room he ordered. Things were too quiet and his thoughts were too loud, having grown used to Jaskier's constant chattering, humming, singing, and strumming of his lute. Geralt was packing up his saddlebags, ready to leave the horrific city behind when a woman approached him with tearful, pleading eyes. "Please, witcher sir." She begged. "I have no coin to spare, but I need your help." Geralt gave her a once over, and didn't doubt her words for a second. Her clothes were torn, ratty rags on their last leg, and she looked far older than her age due to poverty and malnutrition.

"What can I do for you?" He grunted in response, halting his packing.

"My friend, Ivy... something terrible happened to 'er." The woman sobbed. "She was murdered, slaughtered like pig in the streets. The guards will do nothing because she was... she..."  
****

"She was a prostitute." Geralt supplied, knowingly.

"Y-yes. But she was a good woman! She always threw me a few extra coins when she knew I hadn't eaten in awhile. But no one cares that she helped the poor because she- because of 'er job. The bastard that killed 'er could kill again, and no one cares! Please, sir. You have to find out who did it to 'er and do something." 

Geralt sighed. It wasn't a contract. It wouldn't help refill the funds he had been blowing through staying at the inn, or buying their strongest ales to dull the insistent, frustrating feeling of loneliness and regret he had been feeling. But it was an opportunity to do something just, which he refused to admit that he needed. He was riddled with such guilt over leaving Jaskier behind that he hadn't slept properly since he had left the bard. "I'll need more information." 

"That's all I have." The woman muttered nervously. "But 'er b-body-" the woman's eyes began to fill with tears again. "-her body is at the morgue. I've heard all about witchers. Keen senses and all that. Maybe she could tell you more than I could." 

"Thanks. That should suffice." Geralt replied shortly, petting Roach. "Chances are she was just one of the many accused of something she didn't do. I can kill a murderer. I can't take down an entire church that runs the city from the inside." 

"You may be right. But you can gut the pig that did this to 'er." The beggar replied confidently. 

"Hmm." Geralt grunted in response. The woman was right. One less religious fanatic would be helping the entire city. The Church of the Eternal Fire touched too close to home for him. There were too many folk, good folk, who would never be able to enter the city safely while these reverends spewed their bullshit and brainwashed civilians into thinking that only humans were worthy of calling Novigrad their home. 

The woman thanked him, and Geralt made his way to the morgue. The morgue was guarded, as most places were in Novigrad, but there were only two guards and he was able to cast Axii without drawing any attention to himself, convincing the guards to let him in. Being a witcher wasn't enough to get him burned or hanged. Casting signs was.  
  
Geralt slipped inside the morgue unnoticed. Even though the beggar hadn't given him a lot to go on, he was able to find Ivy's body easily enough. The other bodies in the morgue appeared to be simple deaths, old age and sickness. But Ivy's body was a horrific sight to come upon. Her eyes had been scooped out, and had been replaced with burning coals. Her throat was swollen and bruised, an vivid, angry red, and upon closer inspection Geralt found that it was because a heated, steel object had been shoved down her throat. He pulled back the sheet covered her, finding various bruises and burns, the most horrific of which were on her genitals. Carved into her tender stomach flesh was a single word: lust.  
  
"What do you think you're doing in here?" A gruff voice demanded from behind him.  
  
Geralt spun around to find the reverend, shocked that the man had managed to sneak up on him. "I could ask the same for you." He replied.  
  
A softened, sympathetic look crossed the reverend's face. "I'm here to pray that the Eternal Fire deliver these poor souls." He muttered sadly. "It's a shame, what happened to them. What happened to her especially. Whoever did that showed no mercy, no remorse."  
  
"Hmm." Geralt mumbled. He could say that again.  
  
"But you're not supposed to be here. The morgue is only open to myself, the mortician, and the doctor. I don't believe you're any of those things."  
  
"She was a friend." Geralt lied. "I...wanted to say goodbye. Before the body was burned."  
  
"I hate to cut your goodbyes short, but it's about time for us to do just that. Gus is getting ready to bring another body in, and all of the slabs are full."  
  
"Gus?" Geralt asked. He knew he was pressing his luck, but the injuries on Ivy weren't nearly enough to bring him to any conclusions other than he was dealing with a sick bastard.  
  
"Mmhm. Town's corpse collector. The poor fool has really been getting his coin's worth lately with all this sickness and death." Geralt held his tongue and refrained from mentioning that the church was the cause for a some of the deaths. "Now, I'll ask you kindly to leave before I have to alert the guards. Please take some time out of your day to pray that the Eternal Fire lifts us from these dark times."  
  
Geralt nodded and headed for the door, having no intention to pray. He did, however, intend to find Gus before the corpse collector delivered whatever haul he had back to the morgue. The impoverished man wasn't hard to find after carefully asking around for him. Geralt didn't want word to get out that he was searching for anyone, and stuck to asking drunks, beggars, and fisstech addicts where he might be able to find the man. They delivered beautifully, and he was able to track the man down in a matter of hours.  
  
"Are you Gus?" He asked without ceremony, approached a man in tattered rags that was hovering over a bloated body.  
  
The old man squinted. "Whose asking?"  
  
"Geralt. Of Rivia." The corpse collector's eyes grew wide. Word apparently traveled fast, even in the north.  
  
"What can I do for you, witcher?"  
  
Geralt's eyes scanned the scrawny man quickly, and he noticed a chain hanging out of he pocket of the man's poor excuse for pants. Geralt narrowed his eyes. The quality of the gold was much too high for a common corpse collector to have. The job was one that not many could do, and it didn't pay well. Instead of mentioning it, he focused on the body below him. The dead's stomach was swollen and bloated, and an acidic smell filled the air. Geralt knew that smell. He had spent too many times elbow deep in a creatures guts, trying to harvest it's organs for potions or for coin, not to be able to recognize the harsh, acerbic scent of stomach acid. Upon a closer look, the man was also missing his eyes, though the sockets were singed. "What happened to this man?"  
  
"The hell if I know." Gus snapped. "I don't get paid to ask questions, only to deliver the bodies."  
  
Maybe it was the guilt that had been weighing heavily on his shoulders as of late, or maybe it was Geralt's distaste of petty, human affairs, but he didn't like the tone that Gus took with him, and he had the man jacked up by the collar of his shirt in seconds. "I'll ask you again, and this will be the last time I ask you. What happened to this man?" Gus flailed in Geralt's grip the necklace and various other items falling from his stretched out pockets with the struggle. Geralt tracked the items falling to the ground before flickering his bright yellow eyes back to the corpse collector's face.  
  
"I-I don't know!" Gus choked. "I just know that I found another one like 'em a few days ago, burned out eyes and all! But I don't know what happened to 'im, I swear!"  
  
Geralt shoved the man to the ground and leaned over the body. He wasn't a doctor, or a mortician, but something had been shoved down this victim's throat as well, though the inside of his throat was not burned, only swollen. Between that, the man's swollen abdominal, and the stench of stomach acid, Geralt knew the man had been force fed to the point of his stomach bursting, perhaps with some sort of funnel. He lifted the overweight man's shirt, and lo and behold, the word "gluttony" was carved into his stomach. Geralt stood up straight and turned to Gus to find him shoving his loot in his pockets, including a piece of parchment stained with stomach bile. Geralt ripped the paper from Gus' hands unceremoniously.  
  
"'Ey! Finders keepers-!"  
  
"Do you loot all the bodies that you find, you piece of filth?" Geralt growled, kicking the man back with his boot. Gus fell to the ground, cowering. Geralt usually had more composure, but Gus was truly a disgusting human being. Geralt unfolded the parchment to find a note in beautiful, slanted writing. " _The first was the whore, and then the pig was done in. Who will be next to be delivered from sin?_ " Geralt flipped the paper over, and the seven deadly sins were nearly listed on the back. Lust and gluttony were marked through and wrath was circled. "Did you find a note on Ivy when you searched her corpse too?"  
  
Gus scrambled to his feet, holding out his hands placatingly. "Y-yes! But I didn't think it meant anything! Just seemed like a bunch of nonsense."  
  
Geralt didn't think before his brought his fist forward, colliding with Gus' nose with a sick crack. "You could have prevented another murder!" Geralt spat. "You could have saved this man's life if you would have just given these letters over to the guards!"  
  
Gus' hands flew to his nose, blood spurting out between his fingers. "They're nobodies! She was whore and he was a stinking, fat drunk!" He mumbled thickly.  
  
Geralt hit him again, sending him flying to the ground. Jaskier's voice momentarily filled his head. _You never get involved, except you actually do, all of the time._ "I better not see your face again, the entire time I'm in Novigrad. Now take this man tot he morgue so that his loved ones can properly mourn him. And if you tell anyone about this, you'll be the next body to fill a slab."  
  


****

****

  


****

Geralt spent the next 24 hours searching for a lead for the next victim, and never found one. Only a body. Wrath was carved into the cold, greying stomach of Novigrad's best street fighter, someone who brawled and made coin off of the bets. The problem with the man was that went into a rage when he fought, seeing red, and often doing much more damage on his opponent's than what was allowed in a street brawl. After speaking with the man that took the bets, Geralt found that the victim's last opponent had suffered head trauma, even after the man had yielded. The victim's body gave nothing away other than more singed, empty eye sockets and a note with "greed" circled. It also had another unhelpful poem, and Geralt couldn't help but think about how Jaskier would be critical of the lazy rhyming, as if his rhymes were any better.  
  
The one thing that the wrath victim's body did help with was a clue in the right direction of where the next victim could be. Geralt wasn't sure if the killer was getting cocky, or if he was just getting careless, but all of Novigrad was talking about a betrothal ceremony that a local Lord and Lady were having for their daughter. The city was full of hushed whispers about how neither cared about who they gave their daughter away to, only that they would get the highest amount of coin for her hand in marriage. It sounded like it fit the killer's idea of greed, and Geralt began working on on a plan that would allow him access to the party. He was outside the estate, arguing with the guards when the lady appeared at her doorway to take a stroll in the gardens.  
  
"What's this all about?" She asked curiously, peering down the extravagant stairs at Geralt and her guards.  
  
"M'lady." Geralt greeted. He supposed he should bow as well, but didn't anyway. "I am Geralt of Rivia-"  
  
"I know who you are." She interrupted. Apparently Geralt had more manners than she did. Her severe face broke into a small smile. "Gossip travels fast in Novigrad, witcher. For what do I owe for this visit?"  
  
"Since word travels, I'm sure you've heard about the recent murders in Novigrad, Lady Aldusa." Geralt began. "I have investigating the murders, and have reason to believe that the killer may try to attack someone during your ceremony tomorrow. I would like an invitation in hopes of being able to prevent it."  
  
Lady Aldusa glided down the steps, pushing past her guards as if there weren't there. "Who contracted you for this?"  
  
"No one." Geralt admitted. "As nice as earning my keep is, sometimes things land in your lap that you can't say no to, even if there's no coin involved."  
  
Lady Aldusa smiled at him again. "Ah, one of the respectable ones of your kind, I see. The ceremony will be well guarded, and the party is invite only. Not just anyone can get in. Do you not feel as if that's enough protection for my daughter?"  
  
Geralt didn't mention that it wasn't her daughter he was worried about, but Lady Aldusa and her husband due to their greed and willingness to sell their daughter off to anyone. Geralt's eyes flickered to the two guards glaring at him before returning to the woman. "I'm sure your help is well equipped. I'm also sure I'm better equipped."  
  
The woman raised a delicate hand, tapping on her chin thoughtfully. "You're not asking for coin, so I don't see where the harm would be. In fact, the affair may be less drab with a witcher around." She turned to her guards. "Spread word that Geralt of Rivia is an honored guest at tomorrow's events and that no one is to bother him." The guards shot Geralt dirty looks, but left, following their orders. Lady Aldusa reached into a small, expensive looking pouch tied at her waste. She pulled out a handful of coins and shoved them in Geralt's hand. "I won't pay you for your services because I feel that they're unneeded, but this coin is to... buy you some new clothes. You will _not_ be showing up at my daughter's ceremony looking like that."  
  


  


Geralt grunted in annoyance, looking at himself in the mirror. Behind him, Lady Aldusa's personal tailor rolled his eyes. "Your huffs and puffs of protest aren't going to change a thing." He muttered, putting down the string he had been using for measurements.

"Is it really necessary for the doublet to dig into my-"

"Yes, Geralt. A new doublet can be a tad uncomfortable under the arms, but Lady Aldusa specifically stated that you are not to show up to her daughter's betrothal ceremony looking like a common beggar."

Geralt turned to narrow his eyes at the man. His armor did not make him look like a _beggar_. At least the tailor hadn't protested when Geralt insisted that the doublet, trousers, and shoes all be black. "Thanks." He muttered, sighing. He tossed the man his coin, unsure of why Lady Aldusa didn't just pay the tailor directly.

"I did this for the Lord and Lady, and their lovely daughter. Not you. But your thanks is appreciated. Now _do_ head downstairs before you're late. That hair of yours will bring attention all on it's own, no need to take more attention away from Elena with your tardiness. Her mother will have my head."

Geralt gave one last mournful look to his armor and swords lying on the bed before nodding, and heading downstairs. The decadent party was already in full swing, men from all over the continent attending the event for the food, women, wine, and their shot at becoming the future husband of Elena. Geralt stayed on the outskirts of the festivities, scanning the crowd and drinking just enough so that it wasn't suspicious. There wasn't a single woman or man that didn't have a goblet full of Everluce in the great hall. Geralt hadn't noticed any dubiousness, and made sure to keep track of Lady Aldusa, Lord Osbert, and their daughter Elena.

Geralt's constant surveillance was interrupted when the music stopped and Lord Osbert stood, clearly his throat. "Thank you all for coming to this very special occasion. Everyone knows that my beautiful Elena is the light of my life, and as much as it kills me to know she's reached an age where she no longer needs me, but it's time for her to transform from a fair, young lady to a wife and mother." Geralt pursed his lips and leaned against the wall, knowing that all of this peacocking had everything to do with the family running out of money, and nothing to do with Elena's age. "I can assure you all that anyone asking my daughter's hand in marriage will be able to present themselves very soon. But in the meantime, wine and music!" The crowd cheered in response, and a new song started up, causing Geralt to freeze when he heard a lute. He shook his head. He couldn't see where the musicians were from where he was standing, but almost all bards played lutes. It's not like it was Jaskier.

Except that as soon as the bard started singing, it was clear that he _was_ Jaskier.

"You have to be fucking kidding me." Geralt growled, pushing himself off of the wall and working his way towards the crowd.

Jaskier finally appeared in Geralt's view, and took the breath right from his lungs. The bard looked tired, like he hadn't been getting enough sleep. But other than that, he looked stunning. He was donning a particular extravagant outfit in cornflower blue that matched his bright, lively eyes perfectly. He was wearing his signature grin of false bravado, his eyes scanning his audience and shooting a few winks to the crowd as he danced around, playing his lute and singing a jig that lacked in deep lyrics but was catchy and had others on their feet dancing. Geralt stayed back far enough so that Jaskier wouldn't be able to see him due to the crowd's thickness.

"Everything alright, Geralt?"

Elena had managed to sneak away from her seat and her parents. She smiled at him flirtatiously, which made Geralt deeply uncomfortable. She had been devouring him with her eyes since her parents had introduced the two of them, explaining why Geralt would be at the ceremony. Geralt immediately looked for the Lord and Lady. If Elena had sneaked off, so could her parents. Luckily they were in sight, having a discussion with an incredibly wealthy looking man, weighed down by his jewelry of fine stones and gold. "The bard." he growled. "Any particular reason he was chosen for your ceremony?"

"Oh, Jaskier? My family has known him for a long time. I think he and my aunt had... a sort of relationship, years ago. And he's become quite renowned over the years, hasn't he?" Elena looked Geralt up and down slowly. "I believe all that fame began somewhere around the time that he started singing about the fearless White Wolf."

"Hmm." Geralt grunted, looking away from Elena to gaze back at Jaskier. The bard was being just theatrical as he always was when he put on a performance, and the crowd loved him. Women and men alike were looking at him dreamily, and Geralt felt the ugly gnaw of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. "So he was... invited? It's not just a coincidence that he's playing here tonight?" He asked, turning back to Elena.

Elena shook her head. "My mother _insisted_ that Jaskier play tonight. She already adored him, but when his popularity spread, she had to have him." Elena sighed. "I'm sure you've realized by now, my mother has to have the best of the best."

"I bet she burns through coin pretty quickly with an attitude like that."

Elena stiffened. "I suppose word has gotten out, then?" She asked. She swiped at the back of her neck nervously. "It's true that we don't have money like we used to. We're not _poor_ by any means." She scrunched up her nose like there was nothing worse her family could be. "We're just not as wealthy as my father would like us to believe."

"Mmhm. You should return to your parents' side, Elena. It's a lot easier for me to keep an eye on the three of you when you're together."

Huffing, Elena crossed her arms. "This whole thing is ridiculous. I'm going to be forced to marry a horse's arse because my parents refuse to stop living so lavishly." She gave Geralt a lustful look. "I can't have what I want, _who_ I want all because of _their_ spending."

"We rarely get what we want, darling." Jaskier's voice caused Geralt to startle as he appeared next to them. Geralt had been so distracted trying to focus on Elena, what she was saying, and her parents that he hadn't even noticed the singing had stopped and the only music playing was instrumental from the rest of the band. Jaskier was pointedly not looking at Geralt, his eyes focused solely on Elena.

"Jaskier!" She exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "It's been far too long."

"Just a moment away from your beauty is far too long." He replied charmingly, giving her a dazzling smile.

"Oh, quiet!" She turned to Geralt. "Forever the charmer, this one. But I suppose you're right. I'll get back to my parents." She hiked her dress up as to not trip, and made her way back to the Lady and Lord.

Geralt slowly turned to the bard. "Jaskier-" He didn't have time to get another word out before Jaskier kicked him in the shin. Hard. "What the fuck, Jaskier?!"

"I don't want to hear it." Jaskier seethed. "Really, Geralt? You were just going to _leave_ me without saying a word after a night of mediocre, but long overdue sex?"

"Mediocre?" Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jaskier glared at him. "The details aren't important. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Listen to me. It wasn't like that-"

"Then what was it like?" Everything about Jaskier was angry, from his voice to the way he was standing. Except his eyes. His beautiful, blue eyes were telling a different story, a story of just how badly Geralt had hurt him.  
  
"I was avoiding you." Geralt replied, honestly and without hesitation.  
  
"I- you- _avoiding me_?" Jaskier's mouth fell open in shock comically.  
  
And despite himself, Geralt couldn't help it. He started laughing. Which only further angered the bard, making Geralt laugh even harder. "Gods, I've missed you."  
  
Jaskier's jaw snapped shut, and his eyes softened marginally. He opened his mouth to say something, but a woman approached them, pulling at Jaskier's arm and insisting that she had someone to introduce him to. He shooed her off, promising to be over in a moment. He turned back to Geralt after she had left, one hand on his hip and the other waggling a finger in Geralt's face. "We are _not_ done talking about this." He insisted.  
  
Geralt tilted his head, eyeing Jaskier teasingly. "Your adoring fans are waiting."  
  
"At least _they_ appreciate my music."  
  
Geralt smirked. "It's not that I don't appreciate your music. It's just that it's _mediocre_."  
  
Jaskier tried, and failed miserably, not to smile. Then his expression dropped, looking at Geralt seriously. "Don't run off this time, Geralt."  
  
Sighing, Geralt scanned the room momentarily. "I won't." It was honest. He didn't have it in him to leave again, not like he had before. Not without at least explaining to Jaskier why they had to stay away from each other. "Go. Enjoy yourself. Events like these are your favorite."  
  
"They're only my favorite when you show up looking out of place and uncomfortable, but incredibly dapper." He soaked in Geralt's outfit hungrily.  
  
The witcher fixed him with a bored expression. "Your charm doesn't work on me, bard."  
  
"Are you sure about that?" Jaskier inched forward, standing close and looking up at Geralt through thick lashes. He smelled delicious, donning some expensive parfum, mixed with the scent of _lust_ , and Geralt swallowed hard.  
  
"Fuck off." He replied with no real bite. "Go. Let the entire party feed into your hubris. Just be careful. I have matters to attend, but I'll find you before I leave."  
  
Jaskier's smile was dazzling, and it scared Geralt how in that moment he knew he would slaughter the entire great hall if it meant keeping that look on the bard's face. He frowned deeply when Jaskier left, waltzing over to a group of expectant men and women and greeting them in an over the top manner. Geralt didn't like the effect that Jaskier had on him. It was no less terrifying than it had been the day he had left him in the inn. Geralt forced the thoughts from his mind to focus on the party's hosts again.  
  
The Lord and Lady both were shuffling from group to group of guests, their daughter following behind them begrudgingly. Maybe Geralt had been wrong. Maybe going after a family with this stature was too much of a risk for the killer to attempt. Lord Osbert was obnoxiously drunk at this point, his cheeks deep red and his eyes glassy, at times grabbing his wive's shoulder to keep from stumbling through the crowd. Every time Geralt observed them being safe, his eyes always fell back on Jaskier. The bard wasn't having to make his way from group to group because guests were making their way to _him_ , singing praises of his ballads and heroics. Geralt pressed his lips together, annoyed. He would never hear the end of this. Every single bit of it would go right to Jaskier's head. The thing is, no one of the party guests were exactly wrong in their praises. Jaskier's music had gotten much better, and he had gotten much braver. Geralt was convinced that when he first met the bard, the man was nothing more than a coward, leeching off of tales he would never participate in himself. Jaskier had the habit of proving Geralt wrong.  
  
When Geralt looked back at his hosts, Lady Aldusa was missing. "Fuck." He growled, quickly making his way to Lord Osbert and Elena. "Where is your wife?" He demanded, catching the stumbling man. Why Lord Osbert thought it was a good idea to get drunk when his family was in danger, Geralt would never understand.  
  
"Oh, calm down, witcher!" Osbert exclaimed, patting Geralt on the back with excessive force. "Aldusa had to take a piss. She'll be fine."  
  
"I told you that none of you were to leave my sight tonight." Geralt snarled, having no time for drunken dismissals.  
  
"She's just been gone for a moment." Elena said softly. "How much trouble could she have gotten into?"  
  
Geralt shot Osbert a venomous look before turning to Elena. "Novigrad loves to tell it's gossip, weave it's web of stories that have the entire city clucking away like well fed chickens. But tell me, Elena, what parts are true? What details have the gossip mongers missed? Did you know that the killer is basing his victims on the seven deadly sins, and that the next sin on his list was greed?" Elena's eyes widened, the gears finally turning in her head. "Did you know that he carves the sin into their flesh while they're still alive, or that e killer plucks their eyes from their skulls and replaces them with hot coals?" Lord Osbert's face had drained of all color, and Elena looked as though she was going to throw up.  
  
"You have to find her." Elena said, her voice barely above a whisper.  
  
A growling noise of anger made it's way from Geralt's throat, and he wiped around, making his way through the great hall to the door he knew would lead up stairs to were the bath rooms would be. He could hear Elena clamoring behind him, rambling on about how her family had not taken the threat seriously, fear in his voice. She completely reeked of it, he sweet scent turning to something sour as she worried about her mother. "You need to turn back." Geralt growled. "If we don't find her before the killer does, you're not going to want to see this."  
  
Elena ignored him, following him up the stairs. Geralt heard a muffled scream coming from one of the bedrooms, and ran towards the sound. Elena couldn't keep up with him, tripping over the hem of her dress on the stairs, but it was for the best. Geralt kicked down the door, wondering if he should've stopped by his room for one of his swords, but was glad he didn't when his eyes saw the scene laid before him. Lady Aldusa was stripped of her clothes and tied to the bedposts spread eagle, her mouth stuffed with one of her small bags of coin to gag her. The word "greed" was already carved into her stomach, trails of blood running down her flanks and mid drift as she struggled against the ropes binding her. There were deep bruises already covering her body, and a figure was standing before her, robed and towering, the killer's face and head obscured by a mask and hood. The figure spun around as soon as he heard the door open, dropping the devices in his hands and immediately hoisting himself out the window that was open and directly to his right, his feet barely making a sound on the roof as Geralt took off after him. The killer climbed down the lattice on the side of the house, fleeing across the grounds. He was fast, but Geralt was faster. Or he would have been, had two guards not tackled him to the ground.  
  
"We got him!" One of the guards shouted across the grounds.  
  
"It's not _me_." Geralt snarled, watching the robed figure growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Leave it up to a human to automatically assume a witcher was the monster in this situation.  
  
"Unhand him at once!" Elena's tearful voice rang out. The guards immediately let go of Geralt, and surprisingly, one even helped him to his feet.  
  
"You absolute fools!" Elena shrieked. "Geralt was trying to _stop_ the man! Now hurry, search the grounds before I have you hanged!" The guards nodded and ran off, shooting Geralt an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry, Geralt." She said, turning to him.  
  
"I would have caught them if they wouldn't have stopped me." He huffed. "They probably won't find him now. He's smart. He already had the window open in case he needed to make a quick escape. He thought this through." Elena looked across the grounds, a distant expression on her face. "How is your mother?"  
  
"She'll be fine." Elena sighed. "They got her cuts to stop bleeding. He had a bag for of nails and coins and was... he was beating her with it. Broke one of her arms. But she'll recover." She glanced up at him. "Thanks to you."  
  
"Did she say anything?" Geralt asked, ignoring how she was looking at him like some sort of white knight.  
  
"Only that you came in right as he was about to start on her eyes." She shuddered. "And that he kept talking about her life of sin. But you already knew that. He did leave behind this." She pulled out a note that she had stuffed into the small pouch tied to her hip. Geralt took the paper. It was another one of the killer's taunts, this time "pride" was the sin circled on the back. "Do you think he'll go after anyone again? Since he almost go caught?"  
  
"I'm not sure." Geralt admitted, pocketing the note. "This is a ritual to him, and I interrupted the ritual. I would suggest having guards outside all of your bedrooms, on top of having guards patrol the grounds. Just in case he comes back." Elena nodded. She didn't look scared as much as haunted, but he knew she followed him into the room after he had jumped out the window. She had probably been the one to untie her mother. "Are your guests still here?" Geralt asked, thinking about Jaskier.  
  
"Oh, gods, no. Father heard my scream when I found mother. He ran up stairs and had the guards kick everyone out." They both turned to the sound of the back door opening. "Speak of the devil. How is she, father?"  
  
Lord Osbert sniffled. "As fine as she can be. I've called a doctor, and he's on his way. Geralt here prevented the worst of it." The man approached Geralt, placing a hand on the witcher's shoulder. Geralt eyed the hand warily. "I can not thank you enough. We should have taken your warnings more seriously. We let greed get in the way of our safety." He removed his hand from Geralt's shoulder to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. He turned to Elena. "I'm sorry, my love. We were willing to sell you off to the highest bidder, regardless of your happiness. Money isn't everything, and being blinded by it almost made me lose your mother." He looked back to Geralt. "Witcher, I know that not everyone takes kindly to your kind. Hell, I've talked shit about you folk more times than I can count. But I've seen the way my daughter looks at you. I think you should be the one to marry her."  
  
Elena's face lit up beside her father as Geralt quirked an eyebrow. "Thank you, my Lord." He mumbled. "Elena is a lovely young woman, but I cannot accept this offer."  
  
Osbert looked angered, but Elena interrupted anything he might have to say. "I believe his heart belongs to another." Elena stated softly, her eyes searching Geralt's face knowingly. Geralt shifted uncomfortably. "And who are we to stand in the way of destiny?"  
  
"I don't particularly believe in destiny." Geralt growled.  
  
Elena shook her had. "My statement still stands. Give the witcher some coin, father. And send him on his way. I'm sure someone is waiting on him."  
  
  
  
Elena of course, was right, and Geralt heard an elaborate ballad being belted in the back of the pub in town the moment he walked in. Jaskier had drawn quite the crowd, many of the party's patrons following him to fill their bellies with more alcohol and listen to more of the tales he told. He knew the bard well enough to know he would find him there. Geralt picked a table not far off, sliding on the bench with his beer and a heavy sigh. He was not looking forward to the impending conversation, was not looking forward to the look on Jaskier's face when he finally confessed that whatever it was between them had to squished like a bug. He would let Jaskier have his fun for now, and finish his performance.  
  
"The way you weave your stories is just incredible." A pretty, young redhead fawned over Jaskier the moment he finish his song. He strapped his lute to his back, grinning from ear to ear, his blue eyes bright and cheeks pink.  
  
"And they'll only be getting better." He replied confidently. "There are still many stories to be told, stories of the grandest adventures and most heroic fights. And who is better to tell these stories than I?"  
  
"I would simply die if a man of your good looks and aptitude were to right a song about me..."  
  
A man snorted next to her. "He's too busy writing songs about that damn witcher. I heard that he tried to do Lady Aldusa in. That's why the ceremony was cut short. Saw him disappear myself, then moments later Elena was screaming her head off."  
  
Jaskier frowned. "That's not true at all. He was there to protect the family."  
  
The man just shook his head. "We get it boy, you have it bad for the freak-"  
  
"Oh, hush, Ricon." The redhead snapped. "I was there too. He minded his own business the entire time, didn't bother a soul. And you've heard Jaskier's stories. He sounds like a hero to me." She looked off to the side dreamily. "A good looking one at that. I have never seen a doublet fit quite like that-"  
  
"Okay, okay. We get it. Not everyone likes witchers. But they're not all bad. Annabelle is right. Geralt is different. He's a hero."  
  
Geralt smiled into his mug as he took a long gulp of his beer. The way Jaskier felt the need to defend his honor was endearing, though unneeded. He stared at the bard, soaking in how happy and confident he seemed. He was truly in his own element, getting the love and admiration of townsfolk while getting to do his favorite thing... talk about Geralt.  
  
It took the better half of an hour for Jaskier to even notice Geralt, and Geralt was pretty sure it was because he could feel the witcher's eyes on him the entire time. He politely excused himself from his new fans, making his way over to Geralt and leaning against a wooden beam to meet Geralt's eyes with a smile. "Just as brooding as ever, I see."  
  
"Hmm." Geralt grunted, trying to fight the mirroring smile attempting to spread across his lips. "I didn't want to interrupt anything."  
  
Jaskier slid onto the bench in front of him, reminding Geralt of how they had run into each other at that inn all those months ago. "The attention and admiration is nice. I prefer you, though."  
  
"Do those god awful lines work on the ladies?"  
  
Jaskier grinned. "Like a charm. Between my devastating good looks, angelic voice, and lyrics that can cause even the most composed to blush-"  
  
"Jaskier. We need to talk." Geralt frowned.  
  
Jaskier's bravado dropped, frowning himself. "I have a feeling it's going to be about a topic I don't want to hear."  
  
Geralt grunted, noncommittal. Now was just a good a time as any. "I left you for your own protection. This lifestyle... it's not suited for a bard. It's too dangerous. I won't always be able to save you, and I will not have your blood on my hands."  
  
"So, you just make the decision for me, then?" Jaskier snapped. "You just decide that I'm better off without you, and leave me behind instead of consulting me?" Geralt didn't say anything. "And you've called _me_ the coward."  
  
Sighing, Geralt finished his drink. "I didn't bring it up to you because I knew you would only argue, and it's not up for debate." He leaned forward, his elbows on the table.  
  
"You can't just make my choices for me! I know life on the road with you isn't glamorous. I know it's dangerous, and disgusting, and harsh. But believe it or not Geralt, despite your lack of conversation skills, sour facial expression, and you _reeking_ of blood and guts more often than not, I _enjoy_ being with you."  
  
Geralt froze, frowning. This was exactly what he had been worried about. Jaskier seeing him as something he was not, some sort of savior that was actually _likable_. "You can find someone else whose company is enjoyable, Jaskier. Someone who isn't going to get you killed." Geralt stood, ignoring the panicked, hurt look on Jaskier's face.  
  
"So, this is it, then?" Jaskier responded brokenly, his voice quiet.He turned around on the bench.  
  
"This is where we part ways." Geralt said, his voice the softest he thought it had ever been.  
  
"And there's nothing I can do to change your mind?" His eyes flickered to Geralt's crotch, causing the beer to sour in his stomach.  
  
"Don't do that." He growled. "Don't sell yourself short by thinking that was all this was."  
  
"What am I supposed to think? Because from where I'm standing, it was clear that you got what you wanted." Jaskier yelled. Geralt's eyes scanned the pub, but it was much too loud for anyone to take notice of their argument. A man from Jaskier's little fan club glanced in their direction, but the man had already been eyeing Jaskier all night. His intentions clear with his hungry gaze.  
  
Geralt stalked forward, a whirl of unpleasant emotions clouding his mind. He brushed a single strand of hair from Jaskier's forehead sadly, overwhelmed with the urge to lean down and bring their lips together, not caring who saw. "It doesn't matter what I want. What matters is that you're safe."  
  
"Don't do this." Jaskier begged, grabbing Geralt's wrist so all he could do with his hand was cup the bard's cheek.  
  
"You're safer this way." Geralt snatched his hand back after gently rubbing his thumb across Jaskier's cheek, trying to stifle the building emotions clawing at his stomach. People looked at him with fear all the time. Jaskier looking at him with the fear of him leaving was entirely new, and it fucking hurt. Geralt didn't give Jaskier any more time to say anything, didn't give him time to do something that would change his mind. It wouldn't have taken a lot, his decision already teetering on the edge of uncertainty. He wanted to stay. He wanted to pick Jaskier up and carry him all the way back to his room at the end, wanted to lay him out on the bed and show him just how much he didn't want to leave the bard. But he couldn't, because as long as he was around, Jaskier would always be at risk. Geralt walked away, the sound of Jaskier calling after him following him out the door of the pub. Geralt made his way to the inn, just a few buildings over, and went directly for Roach. He had paid for the night's stay already, but none of his things were inside and he thought it best to leave as soon as possible. Roach whinnied when she saw him, flicking her tail and coming out of the stable to greet him. Even though Geralt knew it was impossible, the horse looked like she was judging him for his piss poor decisions. He wasn't sure if he hand landed a highly intelligent mare, or if he was just guilty of the things he felt like she was judging him for.  
  
"I know, I know." He muttered, stroking her between the ears. "I've broken more rules of the witcher code with Jaskier in the past few years than I have my entire life. And I know that once you've made you bed, you have to lie in it. Doesn't mean it doesn't... hurt any less." Roach snorted, pawing at the ground with her hoof. "Don't give me that. We both know the risk I'm putting him at if he were to continue on the road with me." Roach's ears went back and she pulled away from his touch, ignoring him to start grazing. Geralt huffed. "And what you have my do?" She ripped some grass from the ground and straightened her neck to stare at him judgmentally. "You've seen him with a sword, Roach. I think I've owned swords that weigh more than him. He can't defend himself properly, and there will be times-" She interrupted him with a neigh and cantered off to the water trough, clearly not wanting to hear his excuses any more than Jaskier had. Geralt sighed. He could go inside and drink a little more, lie in bed and beat himself up over his life choices while she finished eating and watering herself. As he approached the entrance to the inn, two voices from down the street reached his ears, causing him to stop.  
  
"Think any of those stories are true?" One man said.  
  
"From the bard? Of course. Years ago he was in Novigrad and his stories were... different. He sang of monsters no one had even heard of. Now? Well, I've heard he's spotted with the witcher quite a bit. He's getting a first hand account of all of these stories. It's created quite the name for him, and the White Wolf. I distinctly remember both of them being hated by all just a few years ago." The other replied.  
  
"I would never say this to just anyone, they would have my head, but you know, I think the Church of the Eternal Fire has their knickers in a wad over non-humans, and they should let up. Seems to me that not all of them are bad."  
  
"Aye, but you know the church. They don't believe in exceptions. Makes it twice as impressive that the bard was able to turn people's opinions around in Novigrad. Makes sense as to why he would take pride in his work."  
  
Geralt froze, something about the conversation he was eavesdropping on not sitting right with him. _Makes sense as to why he would take pride in his work._ Pride. "Hmm." Geralt turned back, facing the direction of the pub. "Fuck!" He growled, remembering the man that had been eyeing Jaskier all night. It wasn't because he had wanted Jaskier in the same ways that Geralt had had him, that was Geralt's jealousy rearing it's ugly head. That was Geralt worrying that the first thing Jaskier would do when he abandoned him would be to find someone else to have sex with, because that sounded exactly like something the bard would do. But the man wasn't interested in fucking Jaskier, he was taking an interest in Jaskier's _pride_.  
  
Geralt was bursting through the doors of the pub just seconds later. "The bard. Where is he?" He demanded to the barkeep.  
  
The man startled, but shrugged. "Not sure, witcher sir. Left with another gentlemen just a few minutes ago. They went out back."  
  
Geralt didn't bother thanking the man, or excusing himself through the crowd in the bar as he made his way to the exit in the back. The alley was empty, but Geralt was able to pick up on Jaskier's scent, still strong in the air. He followed the trail to a small, lopsided house in the poor part of town. There was still a sign outside saying that the house was for rent, and who needed to be contacted and where to find him, but Jaskier's scent lead right up to the door. Either the man he was with had a key, or had broken into the house, and Jaskier was either too drunk or too clueless to realize how shady it was that a stranger was taking him to an old, rundown house in the poorly lit, bad part of the city. Geralt tried the doorknob, not wanting to make more noise than he had to, and was surprised to find it was unlocked. The first floor of the house was empty except for an old shelf with some apothecary ingredients that had long since started collecting dust. He could hear voices upstairs, one Jaskier's voice, as clear as crystal.  
  
"You know, when you tied me to this bed, I expected things to go in a completely different direction." His voice was shaking slightly, Geralt could pick it out as he quietly took the stairs two at a time. He breathed a sigh of relief. As long as Jaskier was still talking, he was okay.  
  
"And I expected you to shut your mouth once you realized who I am. Do you _ever_ stop talking?"  
  
"Yeah... staying quiet isn't really my thing-" Geralt kicked down the down unceremoniously, drawing his sword. The hooded figure turned around, and just as Geralt had expected, it was the man from the bar. "Geralt!" Jaskier exclaimed happily, the relief apparent in his voice. He tossed his head back and laughed nervously.  
  
"Get the fuck away from him." Geralt growled at the man, circling him so that he was in between the hooded killer and Jaskier.  
  
Jaskier was struggling against the ropes behind him. "Geralt, could you untie me-"  
  
"Not now, Jaskier." Geralt snapped. "Who are you?" Geralt asked the robed man.  
  
"I am a prophet of the Eternal Fire." The man replied confidently. "The Eternal Fire spoke to me, speaks _through_ me, and wants me to rid this city of sin."  
  
"You believe in a cause that asks you to torture and murder innocent people?" Geralt fully intended on bringing his sword down on the killer, but first he had to know why.  
  
"Innocent?!" He shook his head in disbelief. "These people are anything but innocent. By wallowing in their filth of sin, they work against the Eternal Fire." Geralt sighed. The conversation was leading nowhere. The man's logic was clouded by his fanatical obsession with the church, and he was wasting everyone's time. The man had also already proved to be intelligent and well thought out, and could easily be using the discussion as a means to stall. In one quick, fluid movement, Geralt swung his sword, and the killer's head fell to the floor. Jaskier yelped when a little bit of blood splattered on his fancy clothes.  
  
Geralt turned to the bard, untying him wordlessly. Jaskier was staring at him, observing his face. Unlike Geralt, he couldn't remain wordless for long. "You were wrong."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"You were wrong." Jaskier repeated, rubbing one of his wrists when both of them were free from the rope. "You said that you had to leave because as long as I'm with you, I'm in danger. It turns out that I can get myself in danger with or without your help."  
  
Jaskier was free all except for one of his ankles still bound, and Geralt paused to glare at him. "Do you think that's something to be proud of?"  
  
Jaskier grinned sheepishly. "I was told that it was pride that got me in this situation in the first place."  
  
"You are insufferable." Geralt mumbled, finally freeing the bard.  
  
"I've been called worse." They sat there silently for a moment, Geralt avoiding Jaskier's eyes. "What do you want, Geralt?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Geralt asked, finally meeting Jaskier's eyes and regretting it. Every time he looked into that ocean of blue, he felt his composure crumbling.  
  
"You claim it doesn't matter what you want. What _do_ you want?"  
  
"Right now, I want to go back to the inn and wash this bastard's blood from my sword." Geralt replied, standing and avoiding the real answer. He helped Jaskier up. "Did he hurt you?"  
  
"Ironically enough, he only hurt my pride. I followed this man thinking I was going to get my cock-"  
  
"Jaskier!" Geralt snarled, not wanting to hear it.  
  
Jaskier grinned up at him teasingly. "My, oh my. Geralt of Rivia, the mighty White Wolf, has a bit of a jealousy streak. That's very interesting." Geralt fixed him with an unamused look. "I'm fine. He hadn't been long since tied me up when you came bursting through the door, all heroic like. He did decide to mention that my sin would be carved into my stomach, and that my nose would be cut from my face." Jaskier scrunched up his nose in disgust, and Geralt smiled slightly. "Oh, and my eyes. He planned to pluck out my eyes. I like this ending better."  
  
Geralt raised his hand and smoothed his thumb under one of Jaskier's bright, blue eyes, collecting a little drop of blood that had splattered there. "Me too. I quite like your eyes."  
  
Jaskier blushed, almost unlike himself, before once again pulling on his mask of false bravado. "I think you missed your calling. If you're going to be waxing poetic like that, maybe _you_ should have become a bard-"  
  
Geralt shut him up by wrapping an arm around his waist and hauling him in for a kiss. An indignant voice startled from his throat before he kissed back, melting into Geralt's touch. They kissed until they were both breathless, and when Geralt pulled back, Jaskier's eyes were bright, his face happy. For some reason, he really, truly wanted this. Really, truly wanted Geralt. "If I should have been a bard, you should have been a fool."  
  
"Sometimes I think I still am." Jaskier replied breathlessly.  
  
"Hmm." Geralt smirked. "I can't disagree with that."  
  
"Does this mean-?"  
  
"Yes, Jaskier. I guess I'm stuck with you." Geralt couldn't find a reason to complain about it.  
  


  


Geralt had every intention of leaving Novigrad the following day, but when he woke up pressed to Jaskier's back, his nose buried in the bard's hair, he realized leaving could wait a few hours. And when Jaskier finally woke and insisted that they have a lazy day involving wine, food, bathing, relaxing, and nothing more, Geralt figured they could stay in the city for one more night. Who knows how long they would be on the road before they got to relax like this again? It was the only convincing he needed to go downstairs and purchase another night, Jaskier on his heels insisting that he buy breakfast. Geralt rolled his eyes at the expensive fruits, nuts, and cheeses on the platter that Jaskier brought to their table, but Jaskier had always had a taste for the finer things.

Jaskier must have been serious about the lazy day, because when they returned to their room, there tub was steaming and welcoming, the hot water calling Geralt's name the moment he saw it. He had always liked the water hotter, almost too hot to handle, and he left a trail of his clothes as he stripped and eased himself into the tub. Jaskier just rolled his eyes and smiled, sorting through his bag and adding pleasant smelling salts and flowers to the water. Geralt didn't argue that those could be used in alchemy later, and frowned at the thought of getting used to Jaskier being a little high maintenance. "Are you not going to join me?" Geralt asked when Jaskier sat down on their bed, looking anywhere but Geralt, and began strumming a new tune on his lute.

"Geralt, that tub is hardly big enough for you. You expect it to hold the both of us?"

"Yes." Geralt replied simply, trailing a finger through the bubbles and petals. He watched as pink spread across Jaskier's cheeks, wondering where this sudden shyness was coming from.

Jaskier stripped his clothing slowly, avoiding Geralt's eyes once again. He approached the tub cautiously, but as soon as he was close enough, Geralt pulled him into the water with a splash and a yelp. Geralt chuckled, situated the bard so that he was facing him, practically sitting in his lap with a knee on either side of Geralt's thighs. Geralt smiled up at him, amused by the feigned grumpy expression on his face. Geralt grabbed one of the many bottles the inn's employee had left behind when they filled the tub. He sniffed it apprehensively, decided it smelled fine and slowly poured some in Jaskier's hair after cupping his hands in the water and getting it wet. Jaskier melted into his touch the moment Geralt started scrubbing his fingers through his locks. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, only making Geralt smile harder.

"Gods, your fingers are _magical_." Jaskier moaned, having to put a hand on Geralt's chest to stop himself from fully falling forward.

"So, I've been told." He grunted in response. "Though magical is a long way from mediocre."  
****

Jaskier opened his eyes, raising his eyebrows teasingly. "Still stuck on that, are you?"

"That depends. Are you going to try and go off and fuck someone else every single time we get in an argument, and almost get yourself killed in the process?" 

Jaskier frowned. "Calling it an argument is putting it lightly. There I was, heart on my sleeve, pleading for you to stay and you were going to _abandon_ me-" Geralt kissed him, and despite his noise of protest, Jaskier kissed him back. "You know, you can't keep doing that." 

"Doing what?" Geralt smiled and tilted his head. 

"You can't just kiss me every time you want me to shut up." 

"Hmm. But it works wonders on you." Geralt couldn't remember ever smiling this much. He rinsed Jaskier's hair carefully, preventing anything from getting in the bard's pretty blue eyes. "Hmm. Decades on this earth, and nothing quite compares to how pretty the shade of your cheeks are when you blush."  
  
" _Geralt!_ " Jaskier whined, sounding absolutely scandalized. "The real mystery is how _you_ can bring _me_ to blush. Aren't you supposed to be scary?"  
  
Geralt smirked. "I don't think I've ever scared you, bard. I glared daggers through you when we first met in Posada, and you still insisted on following me. Even after I punched you."  
  
"Aren't you glad that I did?" Jaskier asked, a little breathlessly as he pressed their foreheads together and ran his fingers through Geralt's silky grey hair, tangling from the steam of the bath and working their way through. "Had I been like every other boringly average person, I would've ran for the hills."  
  
Geralt sighed, frowning. "If you had any sense at all, you still would. I wasn't kidding when I said this is too dangerous for you, Jaskier. You'll always been in danger as long as you're with me. You would be smart to leave."  
  
Jaskier jutted his bottom lip out in an over dramatic pout, and smacked Geralt in the chest. "I don't want to leave. And this never mattered to you before." His eyes widened in panic. "Do you _want_ me to leave?"  
  
Chuckling, Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier's waist protectively. "Does it seem like I want you to leave?" He stroked his hands up and down Jaskier's sides, smiling when he felt goosebumps forming on the skin. It was so hard _not_ to smile around the bard when he looked at Geralt like he was something worth sticking around for, like all the danger and horrors of life on the road were tolerable as long as he could stay with Geralt. Geralt reeled him in for another soft kiss before finishing their bath.  
  
  
As they were drying off, Geralt couldn't take his eyes off of Jaskier. His hair was mostly dry, but just wet enough so that it curled more than it normally did, especially at the base of his neck. His eyes were bright and happy, sparkling as he hummed to himself and ran the towel over his body. His skin was pale and soft, tinged slight pink from the heat of the water, the only imperfection the angry jagged scar on Jaskier's chest from the barghest attacks all those weeks ago. Geralt frowned. It still looked significantly better, and with Jaskier's unrelenting use of the scarring salve it would probably fade entirely overtime, but in that moment it was just a reminder of all the danger Jaskier would be putting himself in by choosing to live life on the road, by choosing to stay with Geralt.  
  
Jaskier looked up, turning to Geralt and noticing Geralt's bitter expression, then glanced down at his own chest. observing the scar. "Don't look so absolutely waspish. It looks much better than it did. It's deep, it'll take a long while to heal."  
  
Geralt dropped his towel to the floor unceremoniously and approached the bard slowly. He took his hand and splayed it across the scar before running his thumb along it gently. It was abnormally smooth. It would heal overtime, but not completely. There would always be a faint scar despite Jaskier's care and expensive salve. If it had been much deeper, Jaskier would have died from the wound, if not would have probably become ill to infection. And humans were fragile, an infection could take his life just as easily. Geralt felt his heartbeat speed up nervously, the thought of just how easily Jaskier could die _terrifying_ him, and being so afraid of losing someone felt just as equally as terrifying. Geralt was supposed to be fearless. He couldn't even remember the last time his pulse had increased while killing a beast. "This almost killed you." He muttered gruffly.  
  
Taking his hand and gently placing it over Geralt's, he replied. "But it didn't. And had you not been there, I would have certainly died. "  
  
"You wouldn't have been there had it not been for me." Geralt raised an eyebrow. He knew Jaskier was trying to placate him, but he wasn't a fool.  
  
"Maybe not there. But somewhere. I can't live a boring life, Geralt. If anything, that'll be what puts me in an early grave. I traveled by myself for a long time before I met you. I feel safe with you. Safer than I ever felt then. Please, don't leave me again."  
  
Geralt took his eyes off the scar, off there hands, long enough to meet Jaskier's gaze. Blue. His eyes were so unbelievably clear and blue, so honest and open. He let out a growl and used his hand on Jaskier's chest to shove him against the wall. Jaskier's yelped, but Geralt used the opportunity to bring their lips together, licking his way inside Jaskier's mouth. It took a moment for Jaskier to get on board, but when he did, he threw his arms around Geralt's neck and kiss him back with fervor, hungry, needy sounds escaping the bard's throat. Geralt hated the desperation in Jaskier's voice and the pleading in his eyes when he asked him not to leave. That wasn't Jaskier's spoiled pouting. Jaskier was afraid of losing him, and it stirred up a million different emotions in Geralt that he had spent decades thinking he didn't even have.  
  
"I shouldn't have left you." He growled against Jaskier's skin, working his lips along the bard's jaw and down his throat.  
  
"Is that an apology I hear in your voice?" Jaskier was breathless, but the old familiar lilt of teasing was still there. "By gods, I didn't event think you were capable of apologizing-" Jaskier's mouth shut with a click when Geralt's hand reached for his cock. "You know-" Jaskier started, his voice strained. "Eventually we're going to have to _talk_. You can't just keep distracting me with a kiss, or by- oh fuck, _Geralt_ , right there."  
  
Geralt chuckled darkly against his throat, nipping at the skin. One day, he would mark every inch of this bard. But this was supposed to be an apology. He sank to his knees, still pumping Jaskier's length in his hand, and when he looked up he couldn't help but smirk. Jaskier was already looking completely debauched, his skin flushed and bright blue eyes glassy. His lips were swollen and red, and his teeth biting into his bottom lip wasn't helping at all. "Either you're going to have to suck me off right now, or leave off." There it was again. That hint of begging in Jaskier's voice. "You have no idea what you look like on your knees, and if you keep jerking me off, I'm going to come-"  
  
"Shut up, Jaskier." He growled before slowly easing Jaskier's cock in his mouth. The babbling started up above him immediately, and he ignored it. Apparently the only time Jaskier was even remotely quiet was when Geralt was fucking into him.  
  
Geralt did not have much experience in sucking someone off, but Jaskier had no problem whining for exactly what he wanted Geralt to do. He would never admit that there were perks to having the bard never shut up. He gave an experimental swipe of his tongue over the head of Jaskier's cock and his thighs started shaking so hard that Geralt grabbed his hips and pinned them to the wall to help support him. With his hand out of the way, he eased the rest of Jaskier into his mouth.  
  
"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_." Jaskier whined. "You don't have a gag reflex? Mother of god. I guess that makes sense, you do have to swallow down all those disgusting potions-"  
  
Geralt eased off of him slowly with a lewd pop. "Trust me. You taste a lot better than the potions." He murmured before sucking Jaskier back down.  
  
Jaskier's fingers flew to Geralt's hair, and Geralt didn't know what the obsession with his hair was, but Jaskier was pulling on it on just the right side of _perfect_ , so he couldn't find it in himself to complain. "I'm going to die." Jaskier panted, his head sinking back against the wall with his eyes closed. "All those times all the road, all those perils I've faced, and this is where I die. All because Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, the mighty witcher that invokes fear into the hearts of monsters is actually an excellent cocksucker-"Geralt smacked him hard on the thigh and Jaskier chuckled breathlessly. "Geralt, really, you might want to- _ah_ \- ease off. I'm not going to last much longer.  
  
Geraltt ignored him, relaxing his throat further and setting a more steady, quickened pace that had Jaskier's fingernails digging into his scalp. Jaskier whined something about not kidding up above him, but apparently the bard was too foolish to realize that the whole point of this was to make him come, and Geralt wondered what it said about him that this was easier than actually confessing the words 'I'm sorry'. The only warning he got was Jaskier's body tensing in his grip before the bard spilled into his mouth with a moan. Geralt swallowed, still vastly preferring Jaskier's taste to any witcher potion, and pulled off slowly, looking up at him. Jaskier met his eyes, looking completely wrecked, and a small smile twitched on Geralt's lips at the thought that he had done that. He stood up, once again pinning Jaskier to the wall and bringing their lips together. This time when Jaskier kissed him back it was a little slow and dazed, and he was completely boneless beneath Geralt's weight.  
  
"What was that all about?" Jaskier asked sleepily when Geralt finally pulled away, running his finger's through the smaller mans hair.  
  
"That was an apology." Geralt replied. "For leaving you without saying anything."  
  
Jaskier did one of his boyish, exaggerated chuckles with his head thrown back and his eyes alight with humor. "This is how witcher's apologize? Gods, I hope you fuck up all the time."  
  
"Hmm." Geralt growled before kissing him again. Jaskier would be the death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> The next installment will hopefully be less plot heavy, and more fluffy and focused on Jaskier and Geralt's relationship. Promise I'll try. I'm also writing another fic involving Jaskier losing his memory of Geralt that you should go check out!  
> Comments, kudos, and opinions pay my bills. :) Not really, but wouldn't that be a nice thought?
> 
> If you have any suggestions of tropes, ideas, plots, or general things you would like to see in further installments for the series, feel free to let me know! I'm willing to fill prompts if I feel like it can be fit organically into the series.


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